Too Little, Too Late
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: It was too little, too late, she didn't know if she could forgive and forget so easily any longer. Not after he had promised to never hurt her just to kill a man in cold blood. Not after he had told her he loved her just to dismiss it and jump into the arms of Red John's girl. She couldn't go on like this. Her life and her heart were on the line and she wasn't sure he was worth it.


**Disclaimer: **My father is called Bruno, but our surname isn't Heller, so I guess it means that I don't own in any form The Mentalist, Patrick Jane and so on, just this plot, hopefully.

**Notes: **this story has been in my hard disk since the end of season four, and was supposed to be romantic; then, I got a bit on edge, and it turned into angst. Afterwards, I didn't know how to progress, until, re-reading some files in a DVD I had sitting close to my laptop, I noticed a collection of drabbles I wrote at least one year ago for one of the Mentalist communities on Live Journal, and I re-read one I wrote for Tromana, for the word _"Why?"_, and, since I've always thought that the flash-fiction could have been expanded in an actual story… well, the story I wanted to write wrote itself on its own, in a certain sense. In case you want to read the original flash-fiction: it's the last chapter of my collection, "The Mentalist Prompts".

**Spoilers **for the season four finale, the rest are just my speculations of what may happen between Jane and Lorelai in order to break her.

**Thank you to**: my unofficial cheerleader, Stacie, aka Tromana. Lately, I've been quite… unsure of my writing, and she cheered me up through her marvelous corrections of my stories for the gift exchange (coming soon on your screens), with her comments, reviews and just by simply talking with me, whenever it was about writing or life in general. She also provided the prompt that allowed to move on with this story, so, a double thank you to her.

* * *

He told her to keep her distance from the case and the _other _dark-haired woman, remembering her, time after time, that it was her very life on the line this time, and not merely her career or her job any longer.

She wondered, even as he spoke, if Jane actually believed she was going to listen to him commanding plea.

She wondered if he had always knew she wasn't going to follow his instructions.

She wondered if it hadn't been his plan all along.

She looked, staring, at the scene unfolding right before her eyes, Jane all smiles, light touches, caresses and yes, even kisses, with the woman who had asked for her own head in exchange of her presence in his bed.

And in that moment, she knew: he had told her the truth.

Patrick Jane hadn't changed, only, he no longer played the role of the fake psych; but still, his lies and manipulations served a purpose.

He was manipulating once again Lorelai to get to Red John, just like he had manipulated all of them to get his precious and craved revenge, just like he was still doing.

She suppressed a cry as she run out of the room, doing her best to avoid throwing up.

She had been stupid, childish, naïve and blind- in love with him, falling so hard and fast she hadn't been able to stop until it was too late and there was no turning back.

All because he had wanted her to. Just to use her, to get from her what he wanted and needed.

He didn't love her, just like he didn't love Lorelai. His declaration of love was just another way to gain control over her, to mess with her mind and her heart.

She was his, but he wasn't hers, his very being shared by his late family and two other ladies, two femmes fatale, Death and Revenge.

And she was ready to die for him. She had put her life on hold for him, put an end to her career.

All for him. All because of his lies.

She barricaded herself in one of the bathroom stalls, and gave up. She threw up and silently cried, hot tears were wetting her face as she finally saw the light.

No more.

Things needed to change, because it was her life on the line this time, along with her heart.

And she wasn't sure any longer that Patrick Jane was worth it.

* * *

Things needed to change, so, for once, she took problems into her own hands.

She changed them for her on her own.

Her office become her sanctuary, and she didn't care (not any longer) what her team thought. She was the boss, and if she wanted to stay on her own, so be it.

She didn't join them on the field any longer. she stopped driving Jane around; out there, the consultant could be Cho's responsibility, if he still wished to be with them.

Neither men liked the idea too much. Cho was pissed off (with Lisbon because he had been put with Jane, and Jane because he had pissed off Lisbon), Jane was annoyed, and dared to fake ignorance, behaving like he didn't know, or understand, why she was acting in such a way.

She couldn't care any less.

She just wanted to have to deal with Jane when she was supposed to lecture him or suspend him, which she did, more than once. Plenty of times, actually.

Well, at least she couldn't get more deniability then this.

Meanwhile, Jane kept interrogating Lorelai, with the smiles, light caresses, soft touches and kisses, as tender as he hadn't been in a long time, she was pretty sure of it.

A part of her still wanted to cry out in anger because of this, of him. He had declared his love for her just to use her like he was using (or at least attempting to) Lorelai, faking ignorance of his very words before her very soul.

She couldn't go on like this. She had done a lot, but it wasn't enough yet. It was time to give up on Patrick Jane once and for all.

He wasn't worth it.

* * *

He stormed into her office on the night of some fundraiser event, to be certain she would have made an appearance, sure that once again would have gone with him.

It was nothing like that, and yes, they had been pretty distant lately, but it wasn't like a formal invitation was requested when it came to them. Fundraisers were their things, after all, something that they had always attended together.

As soon as he saw her, his breath died in his throat.

She was a vision in dark green silk, the halter neck cocktail dress reaching her knees and hugging her just so well, not too tight to show off everything revealing the beauty of her feminine body, but soft enough to suggest what's underneath the fabric and capitalize the stares in all the right places without turning the males in perverted pigs.

She didn't blush as she would have done just few months before, actually proud of herself, she merely stared at him, incredibly annoyed.

"I thought I made myself clear, Jane. you are supposed to knock on my door just like everybody else." Her voice was harsh, there was no trace of amusement. She just wanted to underline, once again, that he was nothing special for her any longer, he was just like the rest of the world.

"I just… wanted to remember you we are expected at half past nine"

"I'm well aware" she merely answered, dryly, while putting on her high heels, black leather sandals.

"And yet, here you are, risen and shining, four hours earlier. I fear you'll have to wait for me, Lisbon. I still need to shower and change and do another couple of things before…"

She didn't even allow him to end his sentence. "I'm supposed to have an early dinner, Jane, so, is there anything you want to tell me? Because Walt should be here any minute, and he really wanted to grab a bite before the party."

He shook his head, saying that he just wanted to make sure she remembered the time correctly, but as soon as he was out of her door, she almost laughed hysterically.

He had dared to assume she was going to be his "date" for the event, that once again she was going to allow him to manipulate her.

He really had to consider her pretty stupid, if he honestly believed that she could still fall for his parlor tricks.

He went straight to the attic, wishing for an old mattress underneath a bloody smiley face. From the window, he saw her leaving in a Ferrari, kissing her dark, tall and handsome knight in shining car, smiling happy for him and him alone.

He wondered how he had missed the distance she had put (and was still putting) between them, but then, he had always knew the answer, deep his heart, if he still had one.

Red John had always been the most important thing in his life since he crossed paths with Teresa Lisbon.

He knew she should have been glad that she had finally decided to put some space between them, that she was now safe and sound, but he found that he couldn't.

His aching heart craved her, like ghost pain for something that was no more, and had never been, if not in dreams and fantasy he had no business imagining.

He repeated to himself that it was going to be worth it. Lisbon was going to stay safe, and happy, and soon he would be having his revenge.

He had to believe it.

* * *

Months passed, day by day.

He kept going to Lorelai, keeping up the smiles, soft touches, the caresses, the kisses, doing whatever he needed, in the measure he was allowed to, to break her once and for all.

She kept repeating the same words again and again, saying always the same thing, calling Jane her lover, Red John her savior, saying that she was a gift so that Jane as well could be saved from the nothingness and void of his existence.

Sometimes, she asked of Lisbon. Was she worried for her life? Was she mad with him, or her? Did she think they had done something wrong?

Still, every time he saw her, Lorelai had her smile in place, and never faltered. Until the day she had almost a nervous breakdown, and not without reason.

Even if she wasn't going to speak, Red John knew that Jane was just putting on an act, that he wasn't interested in romantically pursuing the brunette, nor in the offer of a new life as his friend.

Lorelai was a risk, and just like any other of his fallen friends, she had to sacrifice herself for the greater good, whatever she liked it or not.

The mole was a guard, and she had already seen him once with her "master", and when she saw his eyes, she immediately understood what his intentions were, and what her friend, the one she cared so much about, the one she hadn't betrayed, had in store for her.

Thanks also to Jane, so was able to escape the destiny of so many before her.

Afterwards, she screamed in pure rage, just to collapse in tears, once the adrenaline had faded. She buried her head in the crook of Jane's neck, nuzzling his skin and cupping his face while he tenderly kissed her hair and stroked her back up and down.

Looking at him (_them) _Lisbon didn't throw up this time; instead, she escaped to the range, and did what her mentor years prior told her to never do, what she once told Jane to never do, ever.

She fired, again and again, for hours, until she couldn't stand any longer, until her arms and hands hurt, and hit a piece of paper, imagining a real person in front of her, or maybe even two.

Neither of them was her father, like Sam had assumed when she was younger.

* * *

Just few months after that, and the governor of California and the General Director of the California Bureau of Investigation were throwing a party that had been fifteen years in the making.

They were celebrating the men and women who had lost their lives because of Red John, victims and officers of the law alike, and the victory of those who had almost lost everything they held dear (their existence as well) so that he could finally be delivered to the justice system.

It didn't matter that he wasn't in jail, having preferred dying on his own terms rather than being given life or executed because of a jury and a judge.

She was the center of attention (and admiration, and not only for her charisma and what she had done) despite Bertram's attempts of looking like the sole winner with politicians and the press.

She was beautiful and radiant, even if tired- the kind of tiredness you feel in your bones after having finally reached an objective you've followed for so long- but somehow he didn't tell her so.

It wasn't the right occasion, he hadn't been able to find the right moment, and he wasn't even sure he still had the right of complimenting her upon her beauty.

Few hours later, while he was looking for her, he knew he didn't, when he spotted Mashburn kneeling on a balcony, her hands in his.

When he smiled and she cried hugging him, he understood he wasn't going to have an occasion to compliment her any longer.

* * *

It took them (actually, it was mostly Mashburn's doing) a couple of months to arrange everything, and before she could understand what was actually happening, she was in a guestroom of his mansion ready to (or at least waiting for) get married in few minutes' time.

But… even if…. Despite….

She had always wanted to get married in a church, but Walt wasn't Catholic, and he was divorced, so it was a no-no.

She hadn't wanted to wear white, but Walt (and the wedding planner he had haired) had insisted so much that at the end she had given up, surrendering to their "requests".

She had wanted something small, but Walt had insisted that he _had _to have few hundreds guests because his economic and social status requested so, and for the same reason that had to marry _there, _in a billions dollars mansion instead that at her second choice, what he had defined as a "_sad and empty courtroom in front of some unknown _(to him)_ judge". _

And then, she startled, seeing his reflection, right at her back, in the full-length mirror.

Despite still being part of her team (and so, of her life, in a certain sense) she hadn't expected to see him there, but still, here he was, soul naked, in front of her, pure, no lies, no manipulations for once, first time probably since they met over a decade before. The same sad eyes she saw that day in Minelli's office, and yet, so different.

Just them, in a room inside the mansion where she was supposed to get married in few minutes' time to man who wasn't him, despite what she had always desired.

They didn't talk, they barely looked at each other. Then, he broke the silence, just one word, whispered, so low she wondered if he had talked at all or if it had been just her imagination.

"Why?"

She didn't say a word.

Her answer, instead, was a lingering kiss on the corner of his lips, leaving immediately after to join the bridal party.

She hoped he understood it was too little, too late, that she didn't know if she could forgive and forget so easily any longer, not after that he had promised to never hurt her just to go and kill a man in cold blood, not after he had told her he loved her just to dismiss it and jump into the arms of Red John's girl.

She couldn't risk her heart for something that could easily be another empty promise , his specialty, after all, because, frankly, she didn't know if she had it in her to survive another blast like those.

Still, as she walked away and felt his eyes burning the skin through her shoulder blades, she knew her resolution was already faltering.

* * *

She was standing in front of a man in high uniform she didn't know (some commander, captain or whatever Walt knew from his wild days), at the side of a man who didn't know her, or maybe didn't care enough to get to know her, or just didn't care about what she thought.

Jane was sat in the back, among her (soon to be former, Walt's wish) co-workers, hands in his lap, eyes sad and lost, wandering in the void. Jane, Jane who…

Jane who knew she was the only one strong enough to damage control him, and the only one he allowed to. Jane who hurt her just to protect her. Jane who _tried _to protect her from physical and psychological harm.

Jane who used to turn into an obsessed maniac over Red John, over Lorelai. Jane who had done the unthinkable with Lorelai just to get Red John.

Jane who had stayed after Red John had died. Jane who had been silent, had done nothing because he had thought she was happy with Walt.

Jane, whose heart she was breaking because she was just too damn proud, too scared, to do otherwise.

Jane, who was ready to live with a broken heart if it meant her (supposed) happiness.

Jane.

Jane.

_Jane. _

She felt, more than heard, the words, with tears in her clenched eyes, _if someone knows any reason why this couple shouldn't be joined in the bound of marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace…._.

She felt, more than heard, her whispered _no, _the soft and slow shaking of her head, underlining the same answer she had given verbally an instant before.

The officiant didn't say a word, merely looked at them two, probably the only ones who had heard her whispered plea.

Walt was the first one to break the silence. "Teresa, you can't do that to me. I'll not allow you to make a fool of me, right before my friends, if you think that…" he took her wrist, gripping it with all his strength, and while struggling to get free, she finally understood.

It was all about him. it had always been all about him, for Walt. He was self-centered and egoistic, a womanizer who didn't care about her or her opinions.

Not like Jane.

Jane pretended to be self-centered and egoistic, but it was just a mask, to protect himself and the ones close to him.

She couldn't do this to him, like she couldn't do such a thing to herself.

She turned to walk away and their eyes met. She smiled sadly at him, like to say, _not now, not yet, but one day, soon, _and then left the mansion, driving away at the side of Tommy, with a too happy for her own good Annie sitting in the back.

She didn't turned. She didn't have any regret.

It would have been a prison with golden bars, a prison nevertheless.

* * *

It took them months to move and take a first, tentative step in the direction of what they knew it was what they wanted, craved, actually.

He didn't push, waiting for her to be ready. It was the least he could do after _everything _and she appreciated the effort, and what, she knew, was a sacrifice for the man.

She felt, again, wanted, for the first time after so long (too long), the opposite of what she had endured during the last few months of her relationship with Walt.

It was good. it made her feel special and loved, cherished, even.

It was a closed case pizza evening at the office, and she and Jane were alone in the kitchen, cleaning up.

She was washing the dishes and he was at her left drying them, in an intimate, domestic and comfortable silence, when, suddenly, she interlaced her soapy and foamy fingers with his owns, and going on tiptoes, she left a quick, soft kiss on his lips, more or less a simple peck.

He didn't answered, nor physically or verbally, he merely lazily smiled afterwards, a smile that grew bigger and bigger when he saw her blushing, the first time after so long.

He nuzzled the skin of her neck while she murmured something under her teeth, but in that moment, she knew.

One day, she was going to have a small, intimate (and religious) wedding in a little church, with just family and close friends, wearing light blue or maybe pale yellow, and _Jane _would be at the aisle waiting for her and her alone, because he knew and loved her and not because he wanted to impress who knows whom.

One day, soon. But not now, not yet, at least. 


End file.
